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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22381378">In My Head, Everything’s Going Great</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bar2d2s/pseuds/bar2d2s'>bar2d2s</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, F/M, Hospitals, M/M, Richie talks too much but that works out in his favor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 01:41:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,147</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22381378</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bar2d2s/pseuds/bar2d2s</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Eddie makes it out of Neibolt battered but alive, and the Losers decide to stick around Derry for a while. No man left behind, and all that. </p>
<p>And Richie doesn’t intend to leave Eddie behind ever again.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>158</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>In My Head, Everything’s Going Great</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Ever write something and just. Never post it for months on end because you can’t think of a title? This is why literally all of my titles are lyrics, because I, a fool, can’t do titles for shit.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>They’re in Walgreens picking up some snacks when Richie spots the little row of medical alert bracelets. They’re available in a whole array of illnesses; penicillin allergy, diabetes, asthma...</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You think I should get Eddie a med alert bracelet that just has my phone number on it?” He muses out loud, and Bev shoots him a funny look.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I don’t think it’d be a smart idea to get Eddie a doggy tag, Richie.” She replies, laughter in her voice, and even he is startled by how quickly he goes on the defensive.</span>
</p>
<p><span>“It’s not a </span><em><span>doggy</span></em> <em><span>tag</span></em><span>, Bev! He’s been having anxiety attacks the whole fucking, since the near-death by clown thing, and I’m the one who brings him out of it the fastest and, and-!” Richie crosses his arms over his chest, not looking at her. “He needs me, okay?”</span></p>
<p>
  <span>Bev wisely doesn’t bring up the fact that his own clown-induced anxiety, his almost losing Eddie-induced anxiety, had been so strong that two orderlies and a nurse had been needed to sedate him and physically drag him away from Eddie’s body while he was being wheeled into the emergency room. Richie had seen the future in the deadlights, had seen exactly where Pennywise was going to strike. Had seen the blood drip from Eddie’s mouth, just like the vision of Eddie Pennywise had shown him as a kid. But then he woke up, ripped from infinity by Eddie’s triumphant yelling, and he moved faster than he’d ever moved in his entire life.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie still needed a new kidney, but at least he was alive.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t get him a doggy tag, Richie.” Bev says gently, handing him the hand basket piled high with chips and candy, and Ben’s gross rice cakes that he insisted didn’t actually taste like sad cardboard. “I mean, feel free to get one for yourself though, you’re basically his bitch now.” The noise Richie made was a cross between angry peacock and equally angry car horn, but he didn’t refute her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Richie hadn’t been able to give Eddie his kidney, the donor organ had come from some dead guy in Bangor, but he’d refused to leave Eddie’s side since he’d gotten out of surgery. He’d been there when Eddie woke up, he’d been there when the doctors had told Eddie about his new kidney, he’d been there when Myra had run sobbing hysterically into the room and Eddie, pale and shaking, had told her that it would be best if they got a divorce.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re not thinking straight!” The carbon copy of the late Sonia Kaspbrack had wailed. “We just need to get you home, so I can take care of you-“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Absolutely not.” Eddie had replied firmly, sitting up way too fast for someone whose abdomen had literally been </span>
  <em>
    <span>open </span>
  </em>
  <span>less than a day earlier. “Go home, Myra. You can have the house, I don’t care about it. But if you trash or burn any of my things, I’ll sue you for it out of spite.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Richie loved him so goddamn much.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bev says I should get myself a doggy tag with your name on it because I’m your bitch.” Richie says flippantly as he walks into Eddie’s hospital room, tossing out snacks to the other Losers like he’s on a float at Mardi Gras. Eddie choked on the bland broth that made up 70% of his currently allowed diet, and Ben patted him gently on the back a few times. “So what do you think? Bone, circle, heart? I think they make tags that look like fish, if you’re more of a cat person now...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Richie</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Eddie gasped, face red from lack of air. But he was grinning, so Richie didn’t take it too personally. “Don’t get yourself a fucking, a </span>
  <em>
    <span>pet tag</span>
  </em>
  <span> you </span>
  <em>
    <span>moron</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Richie waited until Eddie had caught his breath and tucked back into his broth before saying, “Why not? It’d go great with the collar and leash I picked out,” setting him off again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Beep beep, Richie!” Echoed around the room and Richie cackled to himself, settling into his designated spot in the less than comfy chair right next to Eddie’s bed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Richie, as well as everyone else, had been away from their normal lives for almost a month at this point while they waited for Eddie to be well enough to leave the hospital. After Stan, after Pennywise, after almost losing Eddie in the dark dankness under Neibolt...they’d all decided that no one was going </span>
  <em>
    <span>anywhere</span>
  </em>
  <span> until they could </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> leave Derry behind. But aside from Richie, who made it clear that by Eddie’s side was the </span>
  <em>
    <span>only</span>
  </em>
  <span> place he wanted to be right now, no one had really stuck around for more than a few hours at a time. Not that Eddie faulted them. Bev and Ben were finally together, and were spending most of their time exploring who the other had become in the decades apart. It was really for the best that they didn’t hang around the hospital much, watching the two of them make out for hours on end would put a real strain on any love Richie felt for the pair. We </span>
  <em>
    <span>get</span>
  </em>
  <span> it, you got a happy ending, good for you, Benverly. Bill’s wife, showing amazing amounts of patience and understanding for an actual Hollywood type, flew out after her movie wrapped. They’d apparently had the showdown to end all showdowns at the library, where Bill had been staying in lieu of paying for the right to hear Ben and Bev work out 30 years of sexual frustration at the hotel, but according to Mike, and Bill eventually, they were gonna be alright. And as it turned out, Audra really, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> liked Mike, so much so that he was probably going to have a pair of very famous tagalongs when he eventually headed south. Richie was happy for them, too. Mike deserved to be fawned over after all this time alone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Audra wasn’t here now, in this increasingly claustrophobic hospital room; this was a Losers only party. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And how are we feeling today, Kaspbrack party?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie’s doctors had given up trying to enforce the three to a room rule after the first few days of his stay, once they realized that </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes</span>
  </em>
  <span> the people they were trying to kick out were a famous writer, a famous head of a fashion house, a famous architect, a famous comedian, and some guy from Derry that the other four shielded from view like he’d be stolen in the night if they didn’t. Also, Richie may have bribed some people. “Aw doc, you finally here to get Eddie to turn his head and cough? Can we watch?” Eddie elbowed him, pushing his tray table away and leaning back. “Oh man I was kidding, but if that’s what’s really going on-“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s here to check my stitches, dipshit. And then,” Eddie hesitated, glancing around the room. “We’re gonna start the discharge process, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chaos.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“When did this happen?! I’ve literally been here every second of every day aside from- did you have a secret doctor meeting while I got you your Sun Chips? This is betrayal on the highest level, Eddie!” Richie yelped, jumping up to put himself between Eddie and the doctor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mr. Tozier, Eddie is well on the road to recovery. He’s more resilient than you give him credit for.” What a lie. Not a person in the room would deny that Eddie Kaspbrack was tough as nails, least of all Richie. “Besides, it’s been three weeks since the surgery, his stitches have been all but broken down and absorbed, and his physical therapy is going great. Just don’t let him move any heavy boxes for a while.” With that, the doctor winked at Richie who in his confusion, allowed himself to be moved so that the man could confer with Eddie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Boxes?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The visit lasted maybe fifteen minutes in all, with the doctor declaring that Eddie was definitely well enough to be discharged the following morning. Eddie seemed pleased with the idea of getting out of the hospital after all this time, as did their friends, but as soon as the other Losers had left the room to go grab some dinner-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What did the quack mean by that? The crack about not letting you move boxes?” The look Eddie hit him with was level and unimpressed, but he still scooted over as Richie climbed into bed with him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Richie, I’m about to finalize a divorce and move across the country. You know this. Literally everyone on the staff knows this, because of the scene Myra made on her only visit. I have, you know, shit in boxes that I’m gonna either pay someone to move, or bribe you to carry for me.” There was a sound in his ears, not unlike rushing water. Richie felt like his own voice was coming out distorted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“When did you decide to move out of New York?” Eddie had said across the country, but it didn’t necessarily mean he was going to California. Washington had plenty of risks that needed assessing, they had a whole fucking volcano up there. This time, the look was confused, even bordering on upset.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Richie, did you forget that you asked me to move in with you or..?”</span>
</p>
<p>There was a chance his heart had stopped beating.</p>
<p>
  <span>After Myra had left, after Richie had stopped laughing and high-fiving everyone that would accept the slap, after Eddie had sent off an email to a trusted coworker detailing everything he wanted removed from his house and placed into storage before Myra got back there, the room had been charged. Quiet, because Eddie was only about a day and a half out of surgery, but still charged. Richie had called Eddie a manlet and told him to move over, so they could both fit on the hospital bed, and Eddie had been shocked enough to do it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well now you don’t have any excuse </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> to come live with me in LA.” He’d joked, moving the random wires and IV lines aside so he could hold Eddie’s hand. They’d done this all the time as kids, until someone, somewhere told them that it was weird and then they’d just. Stopped. Richie had been missing Eddie’s hand since he was ten years old. And then Eddie had looked at him, exhausted, in pain, but still smiling. Slightly fuzzy-eyed from jabbing at his painkiller button. “I can go down to the hardware store and make you a copy of my key right now, dude.” Richie had said, and he knew how raw and open his voice sounded, the voice of a man who’d cried more times over the last three days than he had in fifteen years. And Eddie had leaned his head on his shoulder, the butterfly sutures on his cheek stretching as he sighed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah Richie, that sounds great.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Eddie had been high as </span>
  <em>
    <span>balls</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and tired, and running on adrenaline and the kind of emotions it took to tell your mom-slash-wife to take a hike and- oh god. Oh fuck. Eddie’s face was crumbling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you, I mean. Do you not want me to come, now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No. No no no don’t-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t think I ever want you to be anywhere else than right next to me for the rest of our lives.” Richie blurted out, and Eddie winced. Oh god </span>
  <em>
    <span>damnit</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Trashmouth. “Like you’re gonna have to work from home now, and I’ll stop touring, and. And. Too much?” Because Eddie was laughing now, so hard that he’d started to cry a little bit. “Not enough? Talk to me, Spaghetti, I’m freaking out here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The gash in Eddie’s cheek had healed so nicely, there was barely any scarring. But Richie knew exactly where it was, and could see the line every time Eddie smiled. He’d been going to physical therapy every day for the last two weeks, walking on the treadmill while Richie read him Onion headlines and pretended that they were real. Eddie had laughed so hard at ‘Badly Injured Man Not Done Partying Yet’ that he’d almost popped a stitch. They talked practically nonstop about anything and everything. Old memories that had resurfaced, how their lives had been after Derry, what it was like to grow up apart. They’d practically reached the same level of inseparable they’d been before It, before Georgie, before the worst summer of their lives. Now Eddie is putting his hand on Richie’s stomach, because it’s there and he can, and he’s laughing at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dude, you’re talking like I was going to treat California like a layover on my way to someplace better. I have an interview for a job with a firm in Santa Ana next month.” Not the worst commute, but Richie hadn’t been kidding about working from home. “I’m already picking out the kind of plants I want to most likely kill on the porch. I’ve been researching the best shelters to get a cat from.” He bumped their shoulders together. “I’m not leaving until you’re sick of me, Trashmouth.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he hadn’t talked about it with anyone at length, not even Bev who could read him like a goddamn book, but anyone with eyes and a vague idea of how context clues worked could tell how he, that he. Well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t make me say it.” Richie begs, and he can feel his glasses starting to slide down his nose from what he wants to believe is the sweat on his brow. “I’ve been running from this shit for thirty fucking years, Eddie, don’t make me say it first.”</span>
</p>
<p>Eddie snorted.</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know that nurse, Olivia? The one with the freckles? Any time you’re not around, she pesters me about how the hell I got so lucky to have landed a boyfriend that was this devoted to me </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> rich, and I told her that I had no idea. That you’d been putting up with my bullshit since we were kids.” Eddie groans a little as he leans into Richie’s space, his still-healing skin stretching. “That I wasn’t actually gonna question my luck too hard, because Jesus fucking Christ, Richie, were the years I spent without you barely worth living.” And then Eddie was kissing him, mouth awkwardly slotted against his at a terrible angle because of their positions on the stupid bed, and Richie made the single neediest, most embarrassing noise he’d ever made in his life. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A lot of things spill out of Richie’s mouth after that. ‘I love you’ is definitely among them. There’s a joke about the hospital billing them for breaking the bed, another joke about Eddie’s heart rate monitor. But mostly there are pathetic little noises as he practically climbs into Eddie’s lap, kissing him until their lips are bright red and bruised, and the spike in Eddie’s heart rate actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span> cause an orderly to come in and yell at them about overloading the bed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t believe he just called you fat, Eds.” Richie said, trying to smooth down his rumpled shirt and fix the mess that was his hair. God, he needed a haircut.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I weigh exactly as much as I should, man.” Eddie sniffed, two fingers still on his bottom lip. He looked a little dazed, as if he can’t quite believe his own bravery. “You, though, haven’t you basically just been eating vending machine food all month?” Richie didn’t answer, choosing to instead start re-packing Eddie’s suitcases, the ones they’d moved from the hotel to the hospital after he’d woken up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, shut up. Dude, did you pack your entire life for what was supposed to be a three day trip?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>sorry</span>
  </em>
  <span> I can’t be like you and own six button ups and a pair of sweatpants.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How dare you, I also own at least three t-shirts and some jeans. Might even have a sweater somewhere back home.” Richie smiles to himself, because this is what he’s been needing. Laughing together is nice, and making out is beyond what he ever thought he would get, but the stupid little arguments about nothing? Making fun of each other? Throwing Eddie’s meticulously rolled socks at his head and cackling as the ball clocks him right in the nose? This is what he lives for. This is his love language.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The other Losers come back to them still bickering a short while later, laden with diner takeout for him, and a milkshake for Eddie. Richie waits until Eddie is a few sips into his drink before-</span>
</p>
<p>“So just warning you, keep next July relatively open. We haven’t set a date yet, but I can’t keep it to myself anymore. I’m gonna be Eddie’s second wife, and third mom!” Eddie choked on his milkshake, some of it actually coming out of his nose as he sputtered, and Richie laughed so hard he thought he might pass out.</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dude.” Ben said, shaking his head. He didn’t elaborate. Was this a dude of ‘stop messing with us’, a dude of ‘oh god, finally’? Ben had been the Vice President of the 30 Years of Pining club, and Richie had spent a hot minute being so jealous that he’d actually managed to land the love of his life. But he got it, now. Why Ben and Bev were always holding hands, and sneaking off to make out. Eddie wasn’t even ten feet away and now that he could touch, Richie found the distance to be entirely unacceptable.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re gonna get those ring finger tattoos, too.” He half-joked, taking the five or so steps so he could sit in his chair next to Eddie again, laying the upper half of his body across Eddie’s lap. There was a pause in the chatter, as instead of shoving him away, Eddie just sighed and wound his fingers into Richie’s too-long hair. “Oh dude gross, no. It’s been like a week since I’ve washed that shit. I need a haircut.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dude.” Ben said again, but he was grinning. “So like, do we really have to keep </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> of July open?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re gonna get a cat.” Richie says and even to his own ears, he sounds lovestruck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh my god.” Eddie groaned, bending forward and mashing his face into the back of Richie’s neck. “I take it back, I’m not moving in with you. Mike, you want a companion on that road trip?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What, a third one?” He replied, and Richie’s eyebrows shot up, glancing over at Bill, who didn’t meet his eyes. Damn, way to go, Hanlon. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry Eddie, looks like you’re stuck with me.” Richie crowed, sitting up and smacking a wet kiss to the line on his cheek. Amazingly, Eddie didn’t wipe the spit off. He just smiled and even in a room full of their closest friends, Richie wanted to hide that soft, tired smile. It was too intimate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I guess so.”</span>
</p>
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